


Behind the Masque

by WL_Erkling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WL_Erkling/pseuds/WL_Erkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the elite of the wizarding world have a masque ball and you are invited, what can you do, but say yes? </p><p>[narrator/ Neville Longbottom]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Masque

Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and themes from the Harry Potter universe are property of J.K Rowling. I neither own, nor am making profit from the writing or sharing of this story.

 

* * *

 

 

            Lilting music carries through the arched doorway, wrapping around my fingers and swirling into my feet. I can feel it thrumming with each pulse of my heart now. The sweep of bodies on to the dance floor is overwhelming. A barrage of color whirls and bounces past, masks hiding all sense of truth. Hesitation over, I barely make it into the throng before someone pulls me into the swing of a close-bodied trot. Already, the sheen of sweat across his brow is held there only by his mask. It threatens to spill over, but a raucous spin sends it flying into the crowd. I wonder how many other times this will happen tonight. How many other things aside from sweat will be mingled in the chaos? It’s not long before our dance slows and I receive a bow; my partner casually strides into the crowd. I turn.

            Only to be met by another pair of welcoming arms. This time, my would-be suitor looks me up and down, a funny smirk playing on the full-bodied lips as his eyes narrow. My gown is sheer, its layers showing each thigh as it works along with the frenzied pace of the new song. He keeps up, stumbling just the once. At this, we laugh almost deliriously. His laugh is honeyed to match his hazel eyes. They sit well in his olive skin, but he is just another man in the crowd. He leaves with a brush of lips to the cheek at the end of the song.

            I wander aimlessly for the next round as bodies gyrate slowly, some enthusiastically so. There is quite a lot of kissing now, and the lights are dim. Perhaps someone set off a fog spell, as the dance floor is difficult to see. Perhaps they also added a bit of amortentia to it, and the earthy musk I inhale, mixed with a hint of lemongrass is not the uncharacteristic scent of a cluster of bodies, but rather that of a man waiting for me in the wings.

            Several times, I am swept into the arms of some unknown man. There was once that I thought I knew my dashing partner, but in the swinging of his hips and the rasped tones of his voice, he lost me. Almost in a daze, I wandered from arm to arm, chest to chest. They lured me in, with their quirky smiles and obscene gestures. Here, in the grand masque, we can be whomever we wish. It doesn’t matter that the majority of the men and women here are the highest echelon of wizarding society. All that matters is whether my next partner can ease the ache forming in my belly and soothe the feeling of being utterly lost—if just for a moment.

            I know when he finds me. I’m dancing with a woman, her wild auburn curls laying partially over one shoulder in a cascade of silky wonder, her lips plunging the depths of my cleavage, when his eyes lock onto mine from across the floor. I moan wantonly against my bella, slipping a hand between her sweaty thighs. Her shockingly blue eyes flash open and flutter as my palm rubs in circles over her clit. Oh yes, this is what she came here for. It’s a shame that the open-mouthed kisses she’s lavishing on my clavicle and trailing up my neck are for naught. I’ve found my next partner. As the song ends, I lean forward, kiss her deeply and thank her for the lovely dance. My throat is husky, and the words are stilted. She nods, walking away with one lip between her teeth, taking one look back to be sure that I have moved on. I turn to meet him.

            When my gaze returns, he is there and he is overpowering. Truly, that scent is meant for him. The lemongrass is alluring, not tangy-sweet as it is on its own. With the dark musk of freshly overturned earth beneath it, I want to plunge my hands into his depths and feel the warmth within. His eyes burn with hunger. The mask he wears is a burnished copper; it’s a three-quarter style, so that it comes down to cup his strong jaw on one side. The crown flourishes upward into a unique crest, leaves twining around and down the brow ridge to the cheek.

            There is a slight tilt to his mouth as he assesses me; I can feel his eyes taking in the dress, the mask, my eyes. It all comes down to this. His hand extends and I place my own there ever so gently. Around us, the music picked up some time ago. Dancers give us some space, though there is not much to give. He kisses my knuckles, each in turn, and then rises, pulling me into his embrace. Our combined heat is too much, but I want to burn. His hand slides lower to fall in that curve just where lower back meets arse and with each step, I feel it drop even farther. The entire time, his eyes are on mine. Breathing is difficult and it has nothing to do with the formal attire I’ve managed to squirm into, charms aside.

            Before I’ve realized it, several dances have passed. The music just rolls over us and we adapt to the changing of each beat. As the final song winds down, the distinct sound of apparition can be heard across the hall. I look up, pulled from this place, this space with him, to see we have stilled.

            “Would you like to leave, m’lady?”

Everything in my body is screaming that I would like nothing more than to say, “Yes,” and before I realize it, I’ve said it aloud.

“As you wish.” He scoops me up and I let out an undignified squeak. That crooked smile is back, but all I can see or smell is _him_ and then we are apparating.

When he sets me down, I am standing in an unfamiliar flat. It is sparsely decorated and clean. The lines are smooth and the décor is modern. I look around quickly, to realize that he is standing right behind me, just about to brush a finger down my neck. I shiver. He sees this and wraps more of himself around more of me, placing a kiss on the spot he just left bereft. There are more kisses, more soft touches and suddenly I am spun around. His mouth is soft, sweet, and warm. I can feel the pulse of him down to my toes, and it is not just the lack of oxygen from shoes that have been on too long. In a moment, I kick them off just to be sure, but it makes the kissing slightly more awkward as he is several inches taller.

He walks us backward slowly, nipping at my jaw, my neck, and my lower lip. I return the favor as I unbutton his shirt, careful to push it off his shoulders and leave soft suckling marks on the flesh beneath. When he stops, my knees are against the edge of his bed. I assume it’s his bed. Scrambling backward just enough to be sitting on the edge, I lean backward out of easy reach. He leans over, putting those delightful nipples closer to my mouth. I strike. They are sensitive, as his whole body jerks and his head lolls back.

I reach down for his trousers and a wrist stops me. Instead, he reaches around and unzips my dress, laying it open so that the tops of my breasts are exposed. He breathes deeply and runs his nose along each one, slowly pushing the fabric away and down from my shoulders. When it pools around my waist, I squirm, feeling his lips close around a nipple and suck. Then there is a wet pop, followed by quick flicks of the tongue and a rush of cool air. Instantly, both of my nipples are hard pebbles standing outward and waiting for more attention. This he freely gives.

While I am writhing beneath his tongue, I try desperately to snag the catch on his trousers. He bats my hand away again, reaching down, and away from me to do it himself. He nods toward my dress, which I remove, lying there in naught but my mask. Beneath his trousers, he sports nothing but a proud erection, bobbing hungrily while he steps out of the fabric. Then he is on me.

There is no talking. There is only his mouth on mine as his hands work my own above my head. There, he wraps his fingers around both of my wrists to hold them steady. The other hand he uses to reach down and insert two fingers inside me. I gasp. The intrusion is sharp, but not unwanted. They slide in easily and there is a low rumble of approval stemming from his broad chest. In a skilled maneuver, he continues to hold my hands while he rubs his cock around my entrance, gathering some of my wetness and then slipping inside.

I groan, not in pain, but because of the fullness. He moves his hips wickedly in a circular, back and forth motion as he rocks in and out. This is delightful, but I want more. I try desperately to get out of his hold, but his hand grasps mine tighter. My right leg lifts, curling around his thigh and encouraging a deeper thrust, which he obliges. In long, sure strokes, he has me stuttering, but not-quite-there. There is sweat beading on his forehead now and I am reminded of earlier for the briefest of moments before he plunges deeply, his own moan a counterpoint to mine. This is no comparison to the man from earlier. This is a man of the earth. This is a man whose toe-curling body is driving me ever toward an orgasm that I’ve not felt in weeks and if he can just hold out for another—right there! Oh Merlin, right there. I can’t breathe. There isn’t any air. My head is up, against his chest, I’m trying desperately not to bite him but it’s all I can do and, _oh fuck yes_ —too late. My teeth sink into the flesh of his arm. He hisses, but drives into me nonetheless. He rides my orgasm out and chases his own.

In the moments after, I can feel him slowly releasing his hold on my wrists and dropping his head down on my chest. We lie here, relearning how to breathe. There is nothing but beauty in this man, even when he’s bollocks deep in me and unable to move for the pleasure of it. I smile at the memory. It seems odd, but he rolls me over to my side, placing a kiss to my shoulder. Even in the heat and sweat of things, with masks still on, we fall asleep.

Morning greets me with rays of sunlight streaming through the window. I panic for just a minute—this is not my flat. This is not my bed. My hands fly up to feel for my mask, but it is gone. I turn over. So is my lover. I don’t know if I’m disappointed. On his pillow lay our two masks with a note between them. I grab for his, running my fingers over its edges and remembering his burning gaze. Setting it down, I reach for the note.

 _“Sorry to leave like this. Work firecalled. I hope that you’ll stay. If not, I understand. -NL”_ I smile and place it back on the pillow.  


End file.
